Corporeal
by Mummyluvr
Summary: How I imagined the season 1 finale after reading spoilers. Carries over into season 2. No spoilers. Dean makes the ultimate sacrifice to save his brother, but some complications arise and now the boys are trying to make things right.
1. Chapter 1

A bit of an explanation: I read spoilers for DEvil's Trap in April and heard that there would be a car crash and the Impala would bge involved. That was all i knew. Suddenly, this idea formed in my head and wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it down. This all happened in April of 2006.

In May, Devil's Trap premeired in the US. Now I'm reading spoilers for Season 2 and finding that there are some freaky coincidences between them and this story (which, keep in mind, was written in April). So, I thought that I'd post this story here and see what people thought of it. So, here it is: Corporeal, written in April 2006.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters from Supernatural, though I often times wish I did :)

* * *

**Corporeal**

"Poor baby," Meg taunted, circling him, "little bro's trapped inside. There's no way into the warehouse, at least that you know of."

"Shut up," Dean growled, "I'm not like other boys, you know. I'm not scared to hit a girl."

Meg laughed, a high-pitched, mirthless sound that hurt the hunter's ears and heart. "Face it, Dean," she smirked, "we got him. Little Sammy's gonna die and you're powerless to stop it. Unless you find a way in. But I doubt that possible. The place is made completely of concrete, the doors have been sealed and covered by walls of brick. You can't save him this time.

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do. There's got to be a way inside. How else would you have gotten him in there?"

"Daddy and I have our ways, Dean. Speaking of fathers, I do believe that yours is here, too. Inside. He's very disappointed in you, Dean. You let him down. You let _Sam_ down. You can't save them. Unless, that is, you can walk through solid concrete, which I seriously doubt." Still smirking evilly, the blonde woman disappeared before his eyes. She was right. He'd let everyone down.

Dean stared at the warehouse. It was an impenetrable mass of brick and concrete. How Sam had even been captured in the first place, dean would probably never know, but he should have been there. Being here now was no help. He turned sadly back to the Impala, which was parked near the warehouse, waiting patiently for him.

_Unless you can walk through solid concrete._ Nothing corporeal could do that. Corporeal was a Sammy word. College boy.

Dean trudged toward his car, defeat weighing heavy on his heart. He slid in behind the wheel, staring blankly through the windshield. Sam had sat in the same seat when he'd been attacked by the woman in white. She had gone right through the car, solid as it was. Ghosts could do that. They weren't _corporeal._

Suddenly, he understood. It was all a trap. Maybe not for Sammy of dad, at least not now, but for him. She'd found his weakness. Meg and her 'father' had given him no choice. Dean knew what he had to do.

Taking a deep breath to steady his rattling nerves, he started the car, caressing its steering wheel one last time. His father would be all right, could take care of himself, but Sammy needed help. Before he got a chance to talk himself out of it, Dean slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

The Impala careened forward, growing increasingly closer to the concrete wall of the warehouse. The front of the car connected suddenly with the side of the building with a sickening crunch as its only passenger made the ultimate sacrifice.

* * *

Sam sighed loudly. He'd never imagined his life ending like this. He'd _wanted_ to die an old man, fast asleep in his bed, his wife by his side. Instead, he found himself tied to a pole in a dimly lit warehouse in Sacramento. And he was alone. 

From his spot in the middle of the large room, Sam had heard a scuffle earlier that day. He had assumed that Dean had been trying to save him, as always, but a familiar female voice had distinctly said the name John. So his father was there, too. Beaten, bruised, just like he was, dad was somewhere in the concrete enclosure, probably already dead.

"Sammy!"

Sam turned his head to see his brother come running toward him. "Dean? How'd you get in here?"

"That's not important," Dean muttered, untying his brother, "what is important is that we get you out of here."

"Dad's here, too," Sam said, standing up and rubbing his rope-burned wrists.

"He can take care of himself. Come on," Dean urged, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him out of the warehouse's main room and up a ladder to the darkened catwalk above, "there's a door up ahead. With luck, it'll be open."

He pushed Sam down the shadowy hall, yelling at him to run faster, faster, always faster, as he followed. Crates marked 'fragile' and 'caution' flashed by as Sammy ran toward another ladder. He passed it with ease, barely out of breath, and kept running for the promised door out the dank and dreary place he'd been held captive in for so long.

"Sam!" the voice rang out through the warehouse, stopping Sammy in his tracks.

"Dad? How'd you find us?" he panted, turning to the older man who climbed slowly up a ladder from the floor below, "how'd you get away?"

"I had a couple of tricks left up my sleeve. We won't have to worry about that girl anymore. Now, what do you mean by 'us?'"

"Dean and I," Sam replied, gazing around the catwalk, "he was right behind me. He's the one that untied me."

His father gave him a worried look as something below them banged loudly in the still darkness.

"We have to get out of here," John mumbled worriedly, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him to the ladder.

"Dean said the door was that way," Sam said, breaking free from john's grasp and walking toward the door, "he wasn't sure how we'd get out, though."

John pushed past his youngest son and pulled open a large door that had previously been hidden by shadows. He found himself staring at a brick wall.

"Damn it!" he hissed, searching his pockets for anything that could get them out of the mess.

Something fell by Sam's feet and he picked it up. "Dad," he whispered urgently, a smile spreading slowly across his face, "look. It's dynamite. The crates along the walls are filled with explosives! We can get out."

Without a word, the older man grabbed a heavy wooden box and pried it open, revealing the explosives he needed. He grabbed two sticks of dynamite from the box, set them by the wall where the door should have been, and lit them.

"Get down," he shouted, running to Sam and pushing him behind a far-off group of crates. An explosion shook the warehouse.

"Won't it follow us?" Sammy asked as he ran after his father into the bright sunlight, turning in time to see a shadowy mass of darkness flowing up the ladder from the main floor of the warehouse.

"It can't stand the sunlight," John yelled triumphantly as he and Sam descended the stairs that led from the doorway to the parking lot below, "we're safe now, Sammy, for a while, at least."

"What about Dean?"

"He couldn't have been in there. There's no way he could have gotten away without that thing knowing it. No way he could have gotten into the warehouse. He probably hasn't even noticed that you're gone."

"Yeah," Sam nodded as he and his father rounded the corner to the back of the warehouse. He stopped dead, staring at it. The car. Dean's car.

"Sam? You OK?"

It had been totaled. Sam took a tentative step forward, toward the smashed pile of black metal.

"Sammy? What is it?" John turned to look in the same direction as his son and automatically wished he hadn't. _The Impala._

Sam broke out in a sprint toward the car, stopping suddenly when he reached his brother's prized possession. There was a bloody arm hanging out of the crushed driver's side window. Without thinking, Sammy wrenched open the door and reached inside.

He grabbed what he assumed was Dean's shirt, now tacky with blood, and pulled. His older brother's limp body fell to the ground by his feet.

"Sam," John muttered, approaching the scene. He had known something like this would happen one day. He'd been prepared. Sammy obviously hadn't. "Listen."

"How?" Sam asked, dropping to his knees and cradling his brother in his arms, "how? How could he lose control like that?"

"I don't think he did," the older man said quietly, "look at the tire tracks, son. He meant to do it. He never stopped. It got him into the building. You said yourself that he untied you."

Sam just buried his head in his brother's blood-soaked shirt, refusing to believe that Dean was capable of suicide. Not his brother, his protector. Not ever.

He listened to the stillness in his brother's chest, the lack of a heartbeat. His tears mixed with Dean's blood. If he concentrated hard enough, Sam found that he could convince himself that his brother's heart was still beating. That his chest was laboriously rising and falling.

Sam sat up straight, watching Dean's body carefully. He was breathing, somehow. Slowly, the younger leaned close, holding his breath. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat was there, though faint.

"Dad," he said quietly, tears of joy welling in his eyes, "call 911. Dean's alive."

The spirit's hazel eyes narrowed in confusion. He looked at his hand, semi-transparent, flexing his fingers. "How the Hell?" he wondered aloud, though his brother and father didn't hear him.

* * *

Well, what do you think? Wasnt more? As always, I love it when people review! 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Glad to see that someone's interested in this! Hope I can keep you all waiting with bated breath for more!

**Two Months Later**

The constant beeping of the machines keeping Dean alive was drowned out by the loud yelling issuing from his room. John and Sam were at it again.

"We killed it," Sam argued, "nothing's changed with him. I'm leaving, and you can't stop me."

"Your brother needs you!" John retorted, "if you leave now, it'll kill him."

"He's as good as dead, anyway," Sam yelled, storming from the room, the truth was, the past two months had been incredibly hard on him. Dean had been in a coma, and, though the doctors had tried multiple times to wake him, he was still out.

If he ever woke up, the experts said, he would have to learn to walk and talk again. He wouldn't be able to do anything for himself. The accident had been that bad. It would be a hard recovery.

Sam had been itching to leave since the accident. It wasn't that he didn't love his brother, didn't understand the sacrifice the older man had made, he just hated seeing him like that. Hooked up to all those machines. Weak and helpless. A shell of his former self. So Sam left.

He had bought a car, a newer Impala, in honor of his brother's wrecked heap of faithful metal, the month before in anticipation of his flight. Now was the best time to put the car to use. He slid in behind the wheel and hung his head, memories of his latest fight with his father still fresh in his mind.

Their first fight after the accident had been, of course, over Dean. Every fight lately had. John had wanted to pull the plug. Sam had stopped him, though he had no idea why. His brother wouldn't want to live like this, he knew, but something had made him fight his father. Call it brother's intuition. Something good was bound to come from this mess.

And something had. Fueled by rage and an assortment of various other raw emotions, Sam and his dad had gone head-to-head with the demon that had caused their family so much pain. Both men had been injured, but the occasional cut or sprain was nothing compared to what they'd done to the demon.

After that, though, things had gotten steadily worse. Now Sammy was going back to his normal life. Finally, he was going back to school, back to his friends, back to reality. The drive would be a long one, but he needed desperately to clear his head, so it was fine.

He would go to school, forget about hunting, forget about demons, forget about dad. He would forget about Dean. Again.

* * *

The 2001 Chevy Impala pulled up outside the darkened apartment complex. Sam got out, slamming the door behind him. He'd bought the apartment before even seeing it. The wonders of the internet.

Sammy mounted the steps up to his new home, pulling out the keys he'd picked up earlier that day. He tried to convince himself that everything would work out in time if he could just have a normal life. Everything would be OK if he just opened the door and walked in.

The lock tumbled back and Sam walked into his cramped new apartment, flipping on the lights. He screamed.

"Took you long enough," Dean muttered, "you know, Sammy, speeding's only illegal if they _catch_ you." He was stretched out on the couch, his feet resting comfortably on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

"Dean? How? When I left…"

Dean stood up and took a cautious step toward his brother. "You all right, Sam? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Sam's mouth hung open and he quickly took a step back towards the door. He couldn't believe his eyes. "You're standing in the middle of the table."

Dean glanced casually down at his feet, which would not have been visible from his point of view. "That I am," he muttered, "good to see your eyes still work." He took a step back, grinning. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't see it. It's really only solid to me if I realize it's there, anticipate, you know? Sam?"

Sam had run out the door, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe it. His father had pulled the plug. Dean was dead and it was all his fault. If he had stayed in Sacramento, at his brother's bedside, instead of just walking out, things would be different. Dean wouldn't be haunting him.

Still crying, he fumbled the car keys out of his pocket. He had to get back to California, had to find his father, had to shove this new fiasco in the man's face. _"Dean's a ghost, dad. You wanna shoot him, or should I?"_

Swiping at his eyes, Sammy collapsed into his car, leaning back into the soft seat, panting. After everything he and his brother had been through, he couldn't believe it was ending like this. A ghost. A spirit. Sworn enemy of the Winchester family.

"Where we going?"

Sam nearly jumped through the roof at the unexpected sound of his brother's voice. He turned to see the older man sitting in the passenger seat, smiling.

"Dude, nice car," Dean muttered, gazing around, "a little small, kind of modern, but still better than what's left of mine."

"What? How'd you get in here?"

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Have you learned nothing? Spirits can pretty much move freely. Except for that Constance bitch, she kinda stuck away from her house."

"Dad pulled the plug?" Sam asked quietly, trying hard to not meet his brother's eyes.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. I just went after you."

"What?" Sammy looked up, puzzled, "how? You're in a coma. You have no idea what's going on around you."

"That college education's no good in the real world, you know that? When I wrecked the car I, I dunno, left my body. I thought I was dead. Instead, I was just so out of it I might as well have been. I've been hanging around like this the whole time, watching you and dad bicker over the stupidest things."

"Did you ever try to go back? Into your body, I mean. In theory, that should bring you out of the coma."

Dean hung his head, sighing heavily. "I've thought about it. But when I heard the doctors talking, I just wasn't sure it was worth it. I needed some time to think it through, you know? So I kind of…" he trailed off.

"You're the one who made me keep you alive?"

"Well, I figured dad wouldn't listen. All I had to do was mess with you in your sleep, a couple of sweet nothings whispered during the day. You did exactly what I wanted you to."

"You manipulated me."

"I had to, Sam. I didn't know what was gonna happen to me. I just needed time."

"Well," Sam sighed, the wheels turning in his head as he formed a plan to fix the problem at hand, "how's that working out?"

"Great, actually. I was thinking of giving life another try when you walked out. I figured that dad wouldn't stick around long if I woke up, and with you gone, I dunno, life just ain't worth living."

"So you followed me here. Why?"

"Simple," Dean answered, "I like making your life miserable. It doesn't take a genius to figure that one out."

Sammy sighed, slamming the door and starting the car. His jaw set, he pulled into the street in front of the apartment. He knew what he had to do.

"Where we going?" Dean asked again.

"California. I'm making this right, whether you want me to or not."


	3. Chapter 3

Hmm... I must be making Sam particularly evil lately. A lot of people ahve commented on how much they hate him in my stories. Still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

* * *

"Why are we stopping here?" Dean inquired as Sam got out of the car.

His brother chose to ignore him. He was lost in his own thoughts, wondering to himself why he'd driven to Lawrence. He hadn't meant to stop, just drive straight through to Cali with a ghost riding shotgun. For a while things had been like before, but the fact that Dean was transparent had become a constant reminder of the boys' predicament. So Sam had sought out the one person who would know how to deal with this.

"I _said_," Dean stated, suddenly appearing at Sammy's side, "why are we stopping here?"

"Don't do that," Sam scolded, struggling to slow his racing heart. Dean's transparency wasn't the only reminder of his situation, his ability to seeming teleport from place to place served well, too.

"Sorry. Forgot it weirds you out. Why Missouri?"

"Not sure," Sam replied as he started up the walk toward their old friend's house, " I guess I just wanted some straight answers and I knew I couldn't get them from you."

"You calling me gay now? I'm offended."

Sammy rolled his eyes. He'd been trying to find out as much about what was happening to his brother as he could, and he knew that there was something Dean wasn't telling him. Maybe a professional psychic could help, maybe it couldn't. At least it would get his mind off things.

"You know she doesn't like me," Dean muttered, hanging back as Sam knocked on the door.

"Exactly why we're here. Getting Missouri to exorcise you may be the only way I can get back to my life."

"You wouldn't really do that to your brother."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

The door opened before Dean could fire back a witty retort. Missouri stared out at the brothers, an odd expression on her face. "You've gone and done it this time, haven't you, Dean?" she asked.

"We need your help," Sam said simply.

"Honey, I know that. Come on in, both of you. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you could help me with a little problem," Sam said, slowly entering the house and taking a brief look around, "what do you think?"

"Can you describe it?"

Sam sighed, thinking hard. "Well, he's about six feet tall, always wears a leather jacket, and annoys the crap out of everyone he meets. Oh, and he's haunting me."

"Very funny," Dean muttered, stalking past him.

"An exorcism," Missouri nodded, "you sure you wanna do that?"

"Won't do any good," Dean smirked, "I'm not dead."

"In a coma," the older woman nodded, "in a act of heroic self-sacrifice you drove your car into a brick wall and now your body's so badly damaged you don't know if you want to go back. Is that right?"

Sam and Dean both nodded. "He's in California," Sam explained, "and-"

"You're heading out there to try and fix this. I know. You're hurrying now because you don't trust your father with your comatose brother's life. That doesn't explain why you came here."

"I need answers," Sam replied, "I need to know why this happened, how it happened, and why he refuses to go back."

"I told you already," Dean insisted, "I was planning on it, but then I decided against it. At least for the time being."

"I don't believe him."

Missouri studied Dean for a minute. He was standing behind his brother, a look of desperation in his deep hazel eyes. She could feel him pleading with her, begging her not to tell Sam the truth, to just wait. He would reveal everything to his younger sibling when the time was right. He would tell her, too, if she asked, just not when Sammy was around.

"I do," she finally replied. A look of pure relief spread over Dean's features. "I would trust him if I were you. He's telling you everything he knows. He's telling the truth."

Sam hung his head. "It's late," he muttered, "I guess I should find a place to stay."

"I have a couple of guest rooms. If you need a break from motel rooms-"

"He needs a break from driving," Dean interrupted, "he's gone three days with no sleep. He hasn't even taken his hands off the wheel."

* * *

Missouri sat at her small kitchen table, waiting for the specter to appear. Sure enough, Dean slid quietly down the stairs, glancing briefly into the kitchen as he did. The psychic smiled. "Been waiting."

"How'd you know?"

"I'm a psychic, remember? Now come here, sit down. I believe we need to talk."

"Yeah," Dean wandered slowly over, taking his time to look around the kitchen and make sure his brother wasn't hiding anywhere, "we do. Thanks, by the way. For earlier."

"Don't mention it," she smiled, "now, tell me everything."

"I thought you were psychic," Dean smirked, "you should already know."

"The odd thing about you," Missouri muttered silently as Dean took a seat across from her at the table, "you only let people know what you want them to. I have no idea what's going through that twisted little mind of yours. But I want to."

"It all started two months ago," Dean began slowly, "we'd finally found the demon. Somehow, it got dad and Sam. It's little helper, Meg, she told me that the only way I could possibly save them was if I could walk through solid walls. Concrete. She'd taken them to a building that was sturdier than Fort Knox. I did the only thing I could think of.

"I got in the car, and drove into the side of the building. I thought I was dead. I didn't even bother to check and see if I wasn't. I had to save Sam, you know? So I just went right through the wall and found him, all tied up in the middle of a room. I untied him, we started to run, dad found us, I left.

"Then they got out of the warehouse and they found me. Sammy's the one that figured out I wasn't dead. They called 911, the doctors gave the grim diagnosis. If I ever woke up, I'd never be the same. I think that's when I figured it out. If I go back, I'll wake up. The question is, do I want to?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because everything would be different. I wouldn't be able to do anything for myself anymore. I'd be a prisoner in my own freaking body. I'd be completely helpless."

"There's more to it than that."

"Of course. Dad tried to pull the plug. He doesn't need some cripple for a soldier, it's just a liability. _I'm _a liability. And Sam left. I'm lying there in a coma and my charming little brother leaves me alone with a guy who sees me as useless now. Great guys, both of them, huh?"

"Why not go back? I'm sure your father will be glad to get you back, Dean."

The ghost shook his head. "No. I was in that room. I've heard what he's said to me when Sammy and the doctors aren't around. He'll leave. He's already planning more hunts. As soon as I wake up, he'll be gone."

"But Sam will be there."

"You haven't been paying attention, have you? He already left. He wouldn't come back because of something stupid like that! His normal life is out there waiting, he doesn't need to take care of me. I'd be all alone, just lying, day in and day out, in some hospital bed with some fugly nurse feeding me, because here's the kicker, I've severely damaged my body. No wonder dad wants me dead and Sam couldn't care less. I'm worthless now."

"You don't really feel that way," Missouri muttered, realizing suddenly that she was witnessing something very rare. She was getting to see the real Dean Winchester, a young man so broken and tormented by his past that he saw no hope for the future.

"I'm not going back. You can't make me. No one can."

"I know. But why stay like this?"

Dean smirked. "Because now I can protect my brother, just like I promised. I can go anywhere with him. Better yet, there's no where he can go that I can't follow. He can't get away from me now. I'll never be alone again."

He faded out before her eyes, where to, she wasn't sure. "You can come out now, Sammy," Missouri called quietly as Sam pushed open the door from the sitting room, "he's gone. Did you hear all of that?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, sitting in the same chair his brother had occupied moments before, "yeah, I did. I was right, too. This is all my fault."

* * *

Ooh... now the fun can _really_ begin! 


	4. Chapter 4

Hmm... really not much to say before this chapter, save the usual 'thanks for reviewing!'

* * *

The black car sped down the highway, leaving Lawrence far behind.

"So, where to now?" Dean asked, breaking a long silence, "and why the hurry? You beat it out of Kansas like your pants were on fire. Care to explain?"

"I found a new job for us. It's on our way, so I figured we could check it out. What do you think?"

"I think you've finally lost it, Sam. Since when do you willingly participate in a hunt? And _now_? I thought you were freaking out about my 'condition.' What's up?"

Sam sighed, refusing to meet his ghostly brother's eyes. "Haunted house," he explained, "in Nevada. Three little kids have died in the past month. All were found with their stomachs slit open and their fingers cut off."

"Gruesome, but that's not what I'm talking about. What's up with _you_? All of a sudden you're just a gung-ho monster hunter? I don't believe it. What's going on Sammy?"

"Just a change of heart," Sam replied, shrugging, "thought we could maybe do some good before taking a little time off."

"Time off?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I've thought hard about it and I'm not going to let you recuperate all by your lonesome. You're going to need someone to be there to wipe up your drool while you try to eat." He grinned.

"Very funny. The house have any history?"

_He's avoiding it again,_ Sam thought to himself before answering. "Meredith Michaels, a skilled seamstress from the 1930s, was raped in that house. The man who did it left her pregnant. She tried to hide it, but in the end gave birth to a little boy. She lived alone in the house and had to deliver the baby herself. It was terribly deformed and died on the spot, as did his mother, who had performed a 30s-style C-Section."

"Ouch. Let me guess: the kid was born without any fingers?"

"Bingo."

"Gotta hand it to you, college boy," Dean smirked, "you did your homework on this one."

Sam just smiled and nodded. With luck, his brother would never know the true meaning behind this hunt. It was a test run. Sammy just wanted to know if his brother was still capable of hunting evil, or if he was just another pesky ghost to be busted by the Winchesters.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Uh, I guess," Dean replied slowly, "but I might not answer."

"How can you sit here in the car with me, but you walked right through a table back in my apartment."

"Why was your apartment in Rhode Island?"

"I asked you first," Sam shot back. He'd meant to go back to Stanford, back to his friends, back to the life he'd left so many months before. But something had stopped him. He just hadn't been able to go. Too many memories, so he'd hunted for a place to start again, somewhere far away from Stanford, his father, and Dean.

"Well, I tried to explain it to you, but you ran out to the car. It's only solid if I know it's there. Otherwise, I just walk right on through it. I see the seat, I want to sit in the seat, so it's here. I forgot about the table being there, so I went right through it. Answer your question?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. Now answer mine."

Sammy just sighed. "I needed a change of scenery, Ok?"

"No need to get snippy. Now, about this house, is there anything else I should know?"

* * *

Oh, now I remembered somethign to say. About the whole Rhode Island thing. Yeah, so I totally spaced on where Stanford was located while writing the story, and was close to getting done when my friebnd pointed out it's in California. Well, I needed Sam and Dean to go cross-country, so... yeah... anyway, that's my weak explanation for a goof. 


	5. Chapter 5

Time for yet another chapter. What will the boys find as the hunt begins?

* * *

The house was really little more than a dilapidated excuse for a shed with windows. It slanted to one side, rusting nails sticking out at odd angles, threatening tetanus.

"Don't tell me," Dean smirked, "hellhoundslair, right?"

Sam scowled. "That's funny. No, this was a reliable source. An actual newspaper. Now mind explaining why I'm carrying two guns?"

"We're in public now, Sammy, and you're the only one who can see me. Anyone driving down that road over there sees me holding a gun and it won't be good. Floating weapons are a no-no. Just give it to me when we get inside."

"How come I'm the only one who can see you?" Sam asked, walking up the creaky stairs to the front door of the sideways house.

Dean shrugged. "No idea. Maybe you should ask some of your buddies. You have your pick. Haley Joel, Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt."

"If you were solid I'd throw something at you." He opened the door with a rusty squeal. Both brothers cringed.

The boys entered the decaying house, Sam drawing his weapon and handing the spare gun to Dean, who reached out a transparent hand to take it. Slowly, they made their way through the house, checking each room, upstairs and down, until only the spacious kitchen was left.

"She did it in here," Sam muttered as the brothers slid along the wall by the open door, "this is where the kids were all found." Something in the kitchen clattered loudly. The noise was followed by a muttered conversation.

"Sounds like she's got company," Dean muttered through clenched teeth, "on three?" Sam nodded. "One… two… three!" The Winchesters burst around the corner and into the kitchen, where two men in their late twenties stood, both staring at a large vase that had fallen. Cursing to himself, Dean dropped his gun.

The two men looked up as Sam entered the room, gun drawn, and screamed. They promptly jumped away from the shattered vase and two dead flowers it had held. The hunter lowered his weapon, staring at the men. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"What are we doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

"I asked you first," Sam said, throwing a sideways glance at his brother, who seemed annoyed by the sudden intrusion upon their hunt.

"Uh, we're supposed to be here," one of the men, a redhead with thick glasses, replied, "we're professionals."

"Sammy," Dean muttered, finally recognizing the men, "I know who they are."

Sam just looked at him. "Who?"

"Us. And we're over here, genius. Say, don't we know you?" the other said with a false air of authority.

"Ed and Harry," Dean said, smiling, "the Hell Hounds. As if we didn't have enough to deal with."

"Yeah, that's right," Sam smiled, looking at the other men, "the Hell Hounds. Been a while, huh?"

"We know you?" Harry asked, taking a step forward.

"Yeah," he nodded, his smile widening, "Richardson. The Hell House? How'd that, uh, movie deal work out?"

"Oh, well," Ed muttered, "I don't wanna brag, but it's looking good. Where's your brother?"

"Around," Sam replied as Dean started to chuckle. Some movie deal. "What brings you out here?"

"Meredith Michaels," Harry replied, "she was this mass murderer who killed little kids and she's started again."

"Oh. I see. Got anything yet?"

"We were just about to start our investigation, so if you would step aside and let the professionals handle it," Ed said.

"Well I'd love to see exactly how a professional such as yourself works. Mind if I sit in?"

Ed and Harry looked at each other, debating whether or not they needed the dead weight dragging their investigation down. "Sure," Harry finally replied, "just stay out of the way."

Sam nodded, glancing at Dean, who was suddenly very interested in what was happening. The elder winked as he walked calmly up behind the Hell Hounds. He stuck his pinky in his mouth, then inserted it cleanly into Harry's left ear. The man jumped.

"Something wet in my ear!" he shouted as Sam tried hard not to laugh.

"Meredith," Ed practically yelled in the large room, "show yourself." Nothing happened. "Check the EMF," he said professionally, turning to Harry, who was struggling to recover from his ghostly encounter.

Good little ghost hunter that he was, the shorter man pulled out the EMF reader and flipped it on. Sam watched him wave it around the room as Dean kept his distance. "Oh. There's definitely something here," Harry muttered as he approached a loosely hanging cabinet, "definitely, check this out."

Dean walked over to Sam. "Definitely something here," he said with a wide smile on his face, "Wanna have some fun with them before I chase them out?"

Sam just nodded as the Hell Hounds continued documenting a ghostly presence on the opposite end of the room.

"Guys," Sammy said, tentatively taking a step toward them, "is there anyway we can see where it is. I'm getting kind of scared."

"Relax," Ed smiled, "we know exactly what we're doing. No little ghosty is going to hurt you." He turned to Harry, "you brought in the thermal camera, right?" Harry nodded, pulling the camera out of a small black bag and setting the EMF on a table.

He flipped up the camera's screen and panned the room with it. "Oh, there's a drop in temperature," he said excitedly, "a sure sign of a haunting. Come check this out."

Sam and Ed ran up to get a better look. Sure enough, there was a slight drop in temperature directly ahead of the group.

"Look at that," Ed marveled, "kind of scary, isn't it?"

"Wow, I'll say," Dean commented, standing on tiptoes to see the screen, "can you see the ghost, Sammy?"

"Oh, I see it," Sam muttered, "maybe we should get out of here, guys. Before it gets mad."

"Relax, will you? We're _professionals_. We've handled things creepier than this before."

Sammy nodded as Dean crossed the room. "What now?" he asked softly.

"Simple. If there's a presence in this room, please make yourself known," Ed announced loudly. Dean began banging on the wall hard enough to make it shake. A picture fell, it's frame smashing as it connected with the ground.

"Dude!" Sam yelled, feigning shock and fear.

"Don't freak out," Harry cautioned, his voice rising an octave or two, "that'll just egg it on."

Dean just smirked and began stomping around the floor as Sam tried to choke back the gales of laughter fighting to break free.

"This place is really haunted," Ed marveled, looking around the large kitchen, fear apparent in his eyes.

Dean stalked quietly up to the table and knocked the EMF reader off, smiling as he did so. The Hell Hounds, who hadn't been expecting something behind them to move so suddenly, both jumped.

Without making a sound, the ghost snuck up behind the two professionals, smirking. "Dare me?" he asked his brother, who grinned and nodded. "Wedgie time, boys."

Ed and Harry both screamed, high-pitched, feminine shrieks, as Dean grabbed onto their boxers and pulled up. Needless to say, they both ran from the room, and the house, shouting something about a twisted spirit.

"Aw, they left their EMF," Dean noticed as the Hell Hounds sped off in their old Dodge, "and they forgot their camera."

"You're a horrible person, you know that?" Sam asked as Dean crossed the room and picked up his gun.

"Proud of it."


	6. Chapter 6

I've said it before and I'll say it again: thanks for reviewing, guys, it really does mean a lot to me!

* * *

"I'm telling you, Sammy, we've searched this whole house over twice. Nothing's here. Who's to say those little kids didn't do it to themselves?"

"Who, besides you, would be stupid enough to do that?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno. I just thought- hey!"

Sam laughed as he took his brother's weapon and pulled the old door open.

"That wasn't very nice," Dean muttered as he stepped toward the open door, the only way out of the house. A sudden wind blew through the room, slamming the door shut before either brother had a chance to exit the old shack. Evil laughter echoed down the stairs from the upper level.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Sam handed the gun back to his brother, who gladly took it. They both turned to the staircase and waited for the ghostly form of the seamstress to appear.

"Come on," Dean urged quietly, "come on."

"Where is she?" Sam wondered aloud as a cold breeze blew through the room, causing the tattered curtains to flutter wildly.

"Looking for someone, dears?" a voice behind them asked sweetly. Turning, the brothers found themselves face-to-face with a pallid woman in her mid-thirties. Her old-fashioned dress was covered in blood and slit open across the stomach. With a swipe of her hands she sent Sam flying across the room to crash into the old stone fireplace.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as his brother's gun clattered to the ground.

"Oh, aren't you something special?" Meredith marveled, circling Dean and grinning, "just like me."

"I'm _nothing_ like you," he announced boldly, raising his weapon and firing twice. The other ghost disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"You all right?" Dean asked, appearing suddenly in front of his brother and holding out a transparent hand to help him up.

"I guess," Sam moaned, tentatively reaching for his older sibling's not-quite-there hand.

"Oh, come on," Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Sammy's hand suddenly and pulled him up with a strength his brother hadn't thought him capable of, "stop being such a baby. I'm fine."

Sam just blushed, looking at his feet, and bent to pick up his dropped weapon. Slowly, limping slightly on a sore ankle, he headed back to the door, brother in tow.

Sighing, Sammy stepped onto the old front porch, which groaned loudly under his weight. The door slammed suddenly shut behind him.

"Very funny, Dean." No answer. "Dean?" Silence. Sam tried the door. _Locked_. "Dean!"

* * *

Dean stopped in his tracks as the door slammed shut just short of his nose. "Very funny, Sammy," he muttered, closing his eyes and sighing. No matter how many times he did this trick, he'd never quite be able to get used to it.

He walked into the wall, not _through_ it, as he'd meant to, but _into_ it. Confusion apparent on his pale face, he tried again. The wall was solid.

Beginning to panic, and prone to showing it in his little brother's absence, Dean ran to the door and began to pound on it.

"Something wrong, dear?"

Dean turned. Meredith was standing at the top of the rotting staircase, smiling down at him.

"Let me out."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sweetie. That would ruin everything, oh yes."

"Everything?" Dean asked cautiously, taking a small step forward.

She nodded, suddenly at the foot of the stairs. "Dearie, we think you may be delusional. You're probably not aware of it, but you're dead. Poor dear. So confused. You're one of us now."

"Us?" Dean inquired, taking an involuntary step back towards the door. He leaned up against it, his fear rising as he realized that it was still solid.

Meredith was at his side before he could blink, bringing with her the spirit of every child she'd ever murdered, about thirty in all. They surrounded him, backing him painfully up against the freakishly solid door. Dean could hear pounding on the seemingly flimsy wood, his brother trying desperately to get in.

"One of us," Meredith cooed, her eyes flashing murderously, "it's time for you to move on, dearie. One of us. You certainly can't stay here. One of us. No longer the hunter,. One of us. Now only the hunted. One of us. One of us." The children joined in her horrid chant as she grabbed Dean's wrist and began pulling him toward the fireplace. "One of us. One of us. Hunted now, like one of us."

He screamed as the kids grabbed onto his wrinkled jeans, his favorite jacket, pushing and pulling him ever closer to the fireplace, which had started to glow with an unearthly light. Dean began to struggle.

"It's OK, mister," one of the children said, "you're going to a better place." He swiped a hand across his bloodstained face, his milky eyes never blinking.

"I'm not dead," Dean argued, struggling harder as the mob of ghostly kids overtook him, "and I don't wanna die!" He didn't realize that in order to drag him towards the fabled 'light,' Meredith had released her hold on the door. He didn't hear his brother break into the house. He couldn't see the younger man rushing toward him, couldn't hear his name when his little brother shouted it.

Sammy reached the horde of ghosts as they trekked slowly across the room to the glowing portal. He recognized the danger instantly. Again, he yelled Dean's name, and, again, got no response. So he did the only thing he could do. He aimed his gun and fired.

Sure, it was dangerous, but he was a good shot. He wouldn't hit his brother. The spirits began dissolving left and right, screaming as the rock slat melted them into temporary oblivion.

Finally, he caught sight of his brother, buried beneath a blood-drenched group of dead children. He raced forward, seemingly unnoticed, and reached for Dean, trying to grab his jacket and pull him from danger. Sam's hand went right through him.

"Dean!" he yelled, but the older man couldn't hear him over the repeated chant that echoed through the house.

More shots rang out as Sammy attempted to thin the crowd. He saw Dean's hand shoot up in the air, recognizing it by the two leather bracelets he'd been given years before. Friendship bracelets. One from Sam, one from John. He never took them off.

Ceasing fire, Sam reached out and tried to grab the elder's wildly flailing hand. He went right through it, like there was nothing there.

He called out to his brother again, but Dean hadn't heard, _couldn't_ hear, not matter what. The chanting was too loud.

Sam stumbled back, tripping over his brother's discarded gun, which lay by the door. There was only one way, one hope of escape. Life or death, quite literally, hung in the balance. Dean might hate him for it later, but if his plan worked, it would all be worth it. And it _would _work. Sammy was a good shot.

He aimed carefully for his brother, barely visible, even through the thinned crowd, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Ooh... I'm evil, huh? 


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again for all of the reviews, guys!

* * *

Sam sat in the motel room, staring blankly at the white wall. _He had shot his only brother._ Dean had disappeared before his eyes, dissolving as soon as the rock salt had hit him. It had been almost six hours since he'd pulled the trigger, and Sam still hadn't seen his brother.

The children had disappeared as soon as they realized that their intended victim was gone, and Sam hadn't stuck around long enough to find out if they knew he was there. As much as he'd hated to do it, he'd run to his car and sped off down the gravel drive, his heart pounding.

He'd realized between the time he left the house and the time he'd arrived at the motel that his father had never told him what happened to the spirits they shot. He just knew that they went away and often returned shortly after.

He'd been waiting, staring at the wall and collecting his thoughts, ever since returning to the room. What if Dean never came back? What if he was mad? What if he was _really _dead now?

Knowing he would regret it later, Sam pulled out his cell phone. Slowly, he dialed his father's number. It rang, as always, before transferring him to voicemail.

"Hey, dad. It's me. Thought you should know I'm heading back. I, uh, I know what's wrong with Dean, and I know how to fix him. I know how to wake him up. But I think I messed everything up today." Static began cutting in on his conversation as he finished up. "I swear, I'll find a way to make this right. Just keep him alive."

He hung up as the white noise burned into his ear, causing him to cringe.

"You must really be worried, calling dad like that."

Sam looked up, a wide smile quickly spreading across his face. "Dean?"

"No way you're getting rid of me that easy," the elder commented, sliding from the wall beside the door and onto the bed beside his brother, "what were thinking shooting me in the face like that, you freak?"

"I shot you in the _face_?"

"Yeah, some aim." Dean smirked, a simple, typical action that caused his brother much relief. At least he wasn't mad.

Sam grinned sheepishly, "sorry about that. But you deserved it, jerk."

"Bitch."

The customary brotherly banter out of the way, it was time to get down to business, and both Winchesters knew it.

"So," Sammy began, "you know we have to go back, right? She was buried in the cellar. We have to burn the body to release those kids."

"No," Dean shook his head, "no."

"Well, I can go alone if you're scared," Sam challenged, "chicken."

"No, Sam, she's not buried in the cellar. She's in the fireplace. That's how it became a portal to the afterlife: the fact that she never moved on and trapped all those kids. She got walled up behind the fireplace."

"Oh. Does that mean you're coming with me?"

"You just hate to be alone, don't you, geek boy?"

Sam nodded, one final question escaping his mouth before his brain could stop it. "What happened? After I shot you, where'd you go?"

Dean got up off the bed, suddenly on the other side of the room. He just stared at his brother, understanding and fear written clearly in his hazel eyes. "We're never going to talk about this again," he said softly, though with an incredibly demanding tone, "it never happened. This whole hunt never happened. Got that?"

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. His brother had given him a direct order, the first in almost half a year, and he was going to obey. Besides, something told him he didn't really want to know what had happened to Dean. Things would be better off forgotten.

* * *

The house creaked and groaned under Sam's feet as he and Dean entered, the door squealing loudly as it slammed shut behind them. It was pitch black in the old home, which seemed even more sinister in the darkness.

"You got this one, right, Sammy?" Dean asked, hanging back as his brother approached the fireplace.

Sam just smiled softly, sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder and rummaging through it for the supplies he needed. "Sure thing, Casper. Wouldn't want another close call, would we?"

"That seamstress is a psycho," Dean replied, grinning inwardly about the Casper comment, "no wonder she cut herself up."

"Yeah. Just makes us seem a little more normal."

"Said the psychic to the ghost."

Sam grinned, pulling a crowbar, rock salt, gasoline, and a matchbook out of the duffel. Holding the crowbar aloft, he walked forward, toward the crumbling fireplace. He slid the iron grate to one side and leaned into the old structure, glancing quickly up the flume, which was open. "I think you're wrong, Dean."

"_Behind_ the fireplace," he clarified, "she's walled up _behind_ it."

"Oh, great," Sam rolled his eyes and put the crowbar, originally brought along for the purpose of digging Meredith's remains from the flume, to work pulling out the stones that lined the back of the fireplace. Sure enough, once a few were removed he found himself staring into the blank face of Meredith Michaels. He turned back to his brother, who grinned broadly.

"Told you."

"I certainly wish you hadn't" someone behind him moaned. Dean spun around to face Meredith, who seemed none too happy with his reappearance, "because now you're both in trouble."

Without even waiting to see what the seamstress meant, Sam dashed back across the room, his eyes on the supplies needed to burn the body and rid the house of its resident spook. Unfortunately, Meredith anticipated his movement and popped suddenly up between him and his goal. She effortlessly flung him back across the room, where his head slammed hard against the rotting wooden wall.

She was beside his limp form in an instant, standing over him and smiling menacingly. Gently, she bent down and grabbed his wrists, her eyes flashing with manic light. She began to pull Sammy towards her corpse.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, stalling for time as he slowly crossed the room to finish the job his brother had started.

"Well, dearie, he's not dead yet. You'll both cross over in time. Together now. We just need to cut off his air supply. What do you say? Help a poor girl out?"

Dean nodded, smiling that charming smile of his, as he grabbed the salt, gas, and matchbook. "Sure thing, _dearie_. Just let me widen the hole a bit. He's a little bigger than you were."

"You've got that right," she huffed, struggling to drag Sam across the dust-covered floor as he began to stir.

"Say, why don't you search his pockets, just in case. Wouldn't want him escaping."

"Good idea," Meredith marveled, dropping Sammy's wrists and begin to riffle through his pockets, looking for anything that could possibly help him escape a prison of stone.

Dean used the opportunity to fill the small hole his brother had made with salt and gasoline. Smirking, he lit a match. His favorite part of the hunt had always been burning the body, to just watch it go up in flames was something that never failed to make him happy, make him feel truly alive. "Hey, dearie, guess what?"

"What?" Meredith asked, turning just in time to see him drop the match. Her ghost began to dissolve into a swirl of smoke almost instantly as the spectral forms of all the kids she'd brutally murdered appeared, their thanks and apologies all melting into one as the portal in the fireplace opened to allow them entrance.

Sam smiled, sitting himself up off the floor. All those kids were finally free, no longer stuck in the dilapidated house with the woman that had killed them. He was starting to remember why he hunted. And then he looked at his brother.

Dean was barely hanging on to the side of the fireplace, his fingers slipping as the white light of the portal to the hereafter tried to suck him in. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his voice drowned out by the sudden creepy chanting of the mass of children.

Fearing for his brother's life, Sam jumped up and ran toward the portal, hoping that it didn't pose a threat to his own wellbeing. He reached the swirling vortex of light as Dean's grip finally gave, sending him, still screaming, into the light.

Sam reached out and grabbed the older man's hand, solid as it had been before the crash that had almost taken his life. Struggling against the pull of the portal, he pulled his brother back to the land of the living. The vortex closed with a burst of air that sent both men sliding back across the floor.

"You all right?" Sam asked, holding out a shaking hand to help his brother up.

"Yeah," Dean replied quietly, "fine. Thanks. Oh, and mom says 'hi.'"


	8. Chapter 8

And now it's time for a longer post. Yay, longer post!

* * *

Dean sighed heavily as the automated hospital door slid open to allow his little brother entrance. This was it. The moment of truth. After the difficult hunt he'd just endured, he should have wanted to go back, become a nearly normal, completely solid life-form again, but the old fear still nagged him. It had settled in the pit of his stomach. Sammy had left him twice, once when he was in dire need of a friend, the other when he was in dire need of life support. Sam being the only real friend he'd ever had, it had hurt to watch him walk from the room.

And now he had to go back, back to a life where his father left suddenly, back to a life where evil and loneliness were constant threats, back to a life where he had pretended to be tough just to hide who he really was. He was broken, and he knew it.

Sam turned as the doors slid shut behind him, motioning for his brother to follow. Sighing again, Dean walked through the thin layer of glass. He had wanted to go back, but then things had changed. As much as he hated to admit it, even with the close call he'd just had, he kind of _liked_ being a ghost. He could understand why so many people did it. The pure freedom alone was enough to make a person's head spin.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, the look on his brother's face startling him a bit. He seemed lost.

"Keep your voice down," Dean cautioned, "people hear you talking to yourself, you'll be lucky if you don't get committed."

"Sorry," Sam muttered under his breath as a passing nurse gave him an odd look, "just tell me what it is."

"Nothing. Let's just get this over with."

Leaving it at that, the two men walked through the clean white hallways, Sam's steps echoing behind them. They took the stairs up to the third floor, where Dean's room was.

Sam walked in, leaving his ghostly companion in the hallway, assuming he was just readying himself for the task at hand. He knew it couldn't be easy to willingly go into something like that, all the therapy, the pain.

Dean was just as he'd left him, laying in the bed, hooked up to a number of various machines, his eyes closed. The scrapes and bruises left by the accident had healed long ago, most of them leaving scars in their place. He looked peaceful.

John was nowhere to be seen, leaving his youngest son to assume that he was either out on a short hunt or in the cafeteria getting something to eat. Dean walked in, the door closing slowly behind him.

"How'd you do that?" Sam asked as the ghost crossed the room.

"I have my ways." Dean looked at himself, slightly disgusted. How a guy like him had ever wound up completely defenseless in a hospital bed, he'd never know. It was mystery, right up there with the ultimate question: why hadn't he died in that crash? Anyone else would have. The doctors had gone so far as to call it a miracle. As far as the victim was concerned, there was nothing miraculous about it. It was pure torture.

"Well?" Sam urged, staring at him. Dean just gazed back. He didn't know what to tell his little brother. That he was scared?

Sam nodded toward his brother's body. The ghost just stood by the bed, looking at him. Something swam beneath his eyes, something he was trying hard to hide, something he didn't want his little brother to see. Something he'd never wanted Sammy to have to see. His uncertainty, his fear.

"Go on," Sam said, nodding again at his brother's corporeal form.

Dean shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry, but I just can't. You understand, right, Sammy? I just can't go back now."

Sam gaped at him, mouth hanging open. Was his brother pleading with him to let him remain a ghost, something they'd both been raised to hate?

The door opened suddenly behind them, causing both men to jump as their father entered. "Sam? What are you doing back?"

"You didn't get my message?"

"Of course I did. I just thought… the way you ended it… I figured I would never see you again. I thought you said you messed it up."

"Well, I didn't," Sam replied shortly.

"You can help your brother?"

"I know how, but he's being stubborn again."

John nodded sadly, setting his cup of coffee down on a table by the bed. "He's in the room, isn't he? He's here, but I can't see him."

"How'd you know?"

"After I got your call, I put two and two together. Dean wrecks his car on purpose, goes comatose, and unties you in the warehouse, doesn't wake up, and suddenly you want to come back here after storming off? He's a spirit, a free-floater, no longer connected to his body. Lucky for us, I anticipated his resistance to coming back. I know exactly what to do." He exited the room, his face set in determination. He was going to bring his family back together, whether Dean wanted him to or not.

* * *

John reentered the room half an hour after leaving to find Sam arguing with something unseen. The older man cleared his throat, a signal for his boys to stop fighting, which they did.

"So, what's this all about?" Sammy asked, curious as usual.

John opened up the small book he'd retrieved from his hotel room, a slight smile forming on his aging face. "This book," he said, handing it to Sam, who took it cautiously, "about a month after the accident I found it. Local bookstores never tend to know what they really have in their shelves, do they?"

"To return a spirit to its body?" Sam questioned skeptically as he turned to a bookmarked page.

"A _free floating_spirit, one whose body is still technically alive. This kind of thing has become increasingly common since doctors have started playing God, keeping people alive even though the laws of nature say they should be dead. I didn't want to use it in case I was wrong, but when you called, I dug it out. It should work now."

"And this'll just pull him back?"

John nodded. "It should. If he's in the room, just floating around, he'll be forced to return to his body."

"What if he's not the only one in the room? What if something else gets pulled in instead? What if something gets pulled in _with_ him."

"It's not a dark incantation, Sammy," his father assured, "it's specific and good. It'll work, no problems, no complications, no worries. As long as your brother's here now, it'll work."

He took the small book back from his son and looked at the page, a spell he'd memorized months before, a spell he was more than happy to use.

As their father cleared his throat, Sam looked at Dean, who seemed awfully nervous about something. He was pacing around in one corner of the room, muttering something to himself. Finally, he stopped and stared at his brother, a devilish grin forming across his face.

"Sorry, dude," he said, the grin widening, as he appeared suddenly beside Sam. John started reading, his voice sounding more commanding than usual in the confined space of the room, as Dean stepped nonchalantly into his younger brother's body.

John stopped reading as Sam made a noise behind him. He turned to see his youngest son squirming uncomfortably. "You all right, Sammy?"

"Yeah," the man answered, flashing a brief smile as his left eye began to twitch, "fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive," Sam shrugged, though it may have been another twitch.

"Is this making you uncomfortable?"

"I dunno," Sam muttered, his right arm jerking around slightly, the hand balling into a fist which he repeatedly hit against his thigh, "now that you mention it, though, I should probably _get out_ of here. You know, maybe get a little fresh air."

"Probably a good idea," John replied, raising an eyebrow, "just make sure Dean stays here."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled as he walked, still twitching, from the room.

John shook his head and turned back to his work. _If that boy ain't the black sheep of family, I don't know who is,_ he thought to himself as he began to read the incantation that would bring his eldest son back into the land of the fully-alive.

* * *

Well, I told you it was longer :) 


	9. Chapter 9

One chapter left, guys!

* * *

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Sam yelled as Dean finally left his body, giving him back full control over his actions.

The elder brother laughed. "Oh, come on, Sammy. You knew I wasn't gonna make you do anything stupid. Why'd you have to fight me like that?"

"There's just something creepy about being possessed by your brother," Sam replied, feeling slightly violated, "you have a sick mind, I hope you know that."

"Oh, someone didn't like what he heard while he could see into big brother's head?"

"I don't get you. You try to kill yourself, you follow me across the country to get me to come back here with you, then you refuse to come back to life?"

"Technically, I'm not dead yet."

"_Yet, _Dean. You're not dead _yet._ What's gonna happen when dad finishes that spell and you don't wake up? Huh? You think he's just gonna live with that? He'll pull the plug on you."

"No he won't."

"If he doesn't, _I _will. You like being a ghost so much, you might as well get the whole experience, funeral and all. Don't expect to see me there, though. I'm only sticking around if you go back. You stay like this-"

"You can't get away from me, Sam. There's nowhere you can go that I can't follow."

Sam grinned evilly. "I know how to protect myself from unwanted spirits. Dad taught me the same things he taught you. I can send you away if I have to, if avoiding your ghostly ass gets too hard, I can get rid of you forever. And don't think I won't, because I'm not afraid to really kill you."

Dean just stared at him, his eyes softening. No witty comeback, no sarcastic remark, not even a rude hand signal. He just stared, his eyes becoming glassy with tears that threatened to spill loose.

_Can ghosts cry?_ Sam found himself wondering as his brother disappeared before his eyes. He realized too late that he had said the wrong thing, hit the wrong chord. He would be lucky to ever see his brother again, though he was sure the older man would follow him, trying hard to make sure his presence remained undetected. Because that was the kind of person Dean was.

Sighing, his mistake weighing heavily on his heart, Sam turned back to the hospital. He had something he needed to tell his father, and he had a feeling the older man wouldn't take it too well.

* * *

Sam walked slowly into the room to find his father hovering over Dean's bed, a look of concern written across his face. "I don't understand it," the older man muttered, "why wouldn't it work?"

"He wasn't here when you said it," Sam explained, "he was, um, in me."

"_In_ you?" John asked, turning to face his youngest son, "he was _in_ you?"

"Yeah. Then we had a fight. He left. I don't know where he went, but he's not here anymore."

John frowned, his disappointment and anger growing steadily within him. Whatever Sammy had said to his brother must have been bad to make the elder leave. "What were you two arguing about?"

"Stuff," Sam shrugged, avoiding his father's sharp eyes, "just brother stuff, you know?"

"No, I don't know. Tell me."

Sam sighed and slumped down into a chair, looking at the floor. "I just think he should go back, you know, come back to us here. He wants to stay like that. And I told him that if he didn't go back, I'd make sure he never could. I told him _I'd _pull the plug. I told him I'd let him die. I didn't think he'd take it so hard."

"You're right," John replied, gazing back at his comatose son in the hospital bed, "you _didn't_ think, Sam. You hardly ever do when it comes to your relationship with your brother. You think you know him, but you just know the defensive layer, the outer shell. Somewhere, beneath the sarcasm and the wit, there's a completely different person."

"Like an onion? Layers?"

The older man nodded. "Exactly."

"How come he never lets me see the other side of himself? How come he hides it from me?"

"Because he's been hurt," John sighed, "a lot."

"Mom's death," Sam nodded, understanding, "Cassie breaking up with him."

"No. _You_. You're the one who hurt him the most, Sammy. You left him. And he's never quite gotten over that, because you keep threatening to leave him again. He can't be himself around you because you'll just walk away."

Sam finally looked up at his father, a man he'd always seen as controlling, overbearing, and uncaring, and realized that he'd been wrong all along. John had paid more attention while his sons were growing up than he'd let on, he'd picked up on things that both of his boys had missed about each other. Hopes and dreams, fears and faults, he'd noticed them all. He was perfectly aware that Dean was different than other people, a little more fractured, broken, and needed to be saved. He had always through Sam would be the one to save him. Now, he was second-guessing that assumption, and it hurt his youngest son to see it in his eyes.

_He never looked at me the same way,_ Sam thought, a sudden sinking feeling growing in his stomach. He knew his father never would. He had goofed up, had let his brother die, not just come close, but actually _die_. Maybe not physically, but on the inside, and somehow, that was worse.

The beeping of the machines continued as he hung his head. John turned away. He hated to watch his son cry.

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Well, one more chapter, and then we're done! What do you think? 


	10. Chapter 10

All right. the final chapter. The end of the story. I really hoped you guys enjoyed this one, and, as always, I'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. Now, onto the good news: Supernatural Season 2 premiers this Thursday! How exciting is _that?_

* * *

"Please, Dean," Sam whispered, holding his older brother's limp hand in his own, "please come back to us. I'm sorry. I didn't realize, OK? I just got mad. I need you."

"He can't hear you," John said, walking into the room and grabbing one of the bags that held the supplies he'd needed for his extended stay in the room with his eldest son, "like you said, he's gone."

"I'm not giving up on him."

His father just sighed and checked the bag. "Well, you boys have fun."

"You're leaving?"

"I don't really have a choice, Sammy. Just because your brother's in a coma doesn't mean evil takes a holiday. There's a job in Florida calling my name. I need to go."

"So you're just going to leave? Walk out on us? Again?"

"I know it seems cruel, but this ghost has been messing with theme parks, making the rides unsafe. People have died already, and more are to come if I don't do this."

"Are you coming back?" Sam asked, his temper flaring.

"Not likely," his father answered, heading for the door, "just look after your brother. And, Sam?"

"What?"

"Remember what we talked about, OK? Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, dad," Sam muttered angrily, "I wouldn't dream of it." With a quick smile and a nod, his father left the room, closing the door behind him. Sammy looked down at his brother, still fuming. After all the preaching John Winchester had done about family and leaving it seemed almost hypocritical of him to walk out.

"Told you he'd leave," someone in the room commented. Sam turned to see his brother sitting on the window sill, staring out onto the grounds where he and Sam had fought only a week before.

"Yeah," Sam said weakly, "you did. You were right."

"Not something I'm particularly proud of," Dean muttered, sliding off the sill and walking up to stand beside his brother.

"I'm sorry," Sam said after a strained pause, "for what I said."

"I know. I heard. I'm sorry, too, I guess. For everything."

Sammy lowered his head, trying to figure out exactly what that meant. Was Dean sorry for saving him? For not reentering his body? Or for something larger that he secretly blamed himself for? Their father had really messed with the psychic's head; he didn't know what to think anymore.

"You, um, gonna stay like this?"

Dean sighed, considering his answer, knowing there was no going back after he uttered the words his brother had longed to hear for two months. "No. I'm going back. Can't run forever, right? I figure I might as well face it."

"No backing down?"

"No backing down. Just promise me one thing, OK?"

"What?" Sam asked, though he had a pretty good idea what the request would be.

"Just stick around, all right? No matter what, don't leave."

"No way am I gonna miss little old helpless you toddling around the hospital," Sam smiled, "don't worry about it. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Dean nodded, plunging the room into another awkward silence.

"Any day, now," Sam urged gently.

Dean sighed and sat on the foot of the bed. "You know," he smirked, "this ghost thing is pretty cool. You should try it sometime. It's a real blast."

"I'll pass, thanks."

With one last ghostly smile and a wave of his transparent hand, Dean laid back on the bed, falling perfectly into his body. Sam held his breath, fingers crossed, as he waited for any sign of life from his older brother. He breathed a sigh of relief as Dean's eyes fluttered slowly open and began searching the room. The blank expression on the elder's face changed to something like disgust, then brightened as his wandering hazel eyes found his brother.

"Hey," Sam muttered softly, smiling brightly as his eyes met his brother's.

Dean gurgled something incomprehensible, unable to speak.

"Yeah, I know," Sam smiled, his finger hitting the button to call a nurse, "I love you, too."

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Sappy, I know. So, what did everyone think? 


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